


Fast

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Established Relationship, In Public, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:26:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“‘We’ve got some time.’” Stein and Spirit occupy themselves while waiting to start a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fast

Spirit is slouching against the wall of the alley, watching Stein watch the street like he can see the target’s soul wavelength reflected in his meister’s eyes. There’s nothing else to look at; this section of the city has been evacuated in consideration of the Kishin egg currently at large, and the late hour and descending winter cold make it unpalatable for most anyway, but the best weapon-meister partners in the DWMA go where they need to be, even if that means a filthy alley in the middle of a November night.

“Can you see it?” Spirit asks, just to hear the sound of his own voice.

Stein reaches up to hold his cigarette steady as he draws a long inhale, pulls it away and tosses the end in the vague direction of a dumpster farther down the street. “Yeah. It’s coming this way, but slowly. We’ve got some time.”

“How long?”

Stein shrugs, still staring down the cross-street at the soul wavelength. “Maybe five minutes.”

Spirit coughs. “Five minutes, huh?”

The words are entirely flat, as devoid of meaning as Spirit can make them, but Stein turns sharply towards him anyway.

“Yeah,” he says, and then he’s coming, moving forward so fast Spirit almost doesn’t see him shift. Spirit steps in as fast as the meister does, so they come crashing together in the middle of the space, but Stein has a couple inches and several pounds of muscle on Spirit, and his motion absorbs and reverse Spirit’s momentum, aided by the fistfuls of jacket that the younger man seizes in both hands. For his part Spirit lets himself go backward, shifting back in submission to Stein’s force so when his shoulders hit the wall it’s hard enough to gust the air out of his lungs, and then Stein’s body hits him and he can’t get a breath back.

He’s not particularly concerned about breathing at the moment though, not when his hands are against Stein’s hair and his mouth is against Stein’s lips, cheek, chin, any skin within reach, and Stein is growling very low in his throat, a steady hum through their bodies that goes straight to Spirit’s groin. Stein lets go of Spirit’s coat with one hand in favor of grabbing the weapon’s hip and pushing him flush against the wall, and Spirit’s fingers are threading as far down the collar at the back of Stein’s shirt as he can manage and hooking around the screw in the grey hair. Stein dips his head low, Spirit can feel the muscles work across his shoulders, and the top of his head forces Spirit’s chin up and his tongue trails hot against the weapon’s pulse. Spirit sighs, the sound going high against the angle of his throat, and Stein’s fingers dig against the layers of fabric between them and Spirit’s skin.

It’s a tangle after that, Spirit’s hands chasing the sleeves of Stein’s coat down to threaded skin-and-cloth and Stein’s long fingers clutching at the smooth cloth of Spirit’s shirt and it’s not going to be very smooth after this but Spirit doesn’t care, can’t care about much of anything except the way Stein is panting into his ear and the way the night-cold air feels indecent and thrilling against his superheated skin. One of Spirit’s hands gets up and under Stein’s shirt, skin-to-skin finally, and his fingers slide against the flushed angle of Stein’s back and he can feel the meister suck in a shuddering breath under his fingers and hear it against his hair and he laughs without intending to, pleased at the reaction.

Stein hisses in mock frustration and reclaims his left arm from the tangle of half-removed coat and Spirit’s reaching fingers, forces Spirit back with a push against his shoulder and holds him there with one hand and the pressure of his hips against Spirit’s leg, and Spirit stops fighting for more control because he could get used to the weight of Stein against him and also because Stein’s fingers are just skimming the bottom edge of his mostly-freed shirt and he’d like more of that, please. Stein gets the shirt loose of his slacks as soon as Spirit stops moving, pulling so hard that the cloth is in some danger of tearing, but then he has a hold on Spirit’s belt and is pulling the weapon in against him by the impromptu handle and Spirit loses his concern for his clothes entirely. Stein brings his head back up from Spirit’s ear and his eyes are unfocused and his face is cast in sharp shadows with the odd nighttime light and Spirit leans in to kiss his damp lips. Stein’s tongue is tracing the part of his mouth so he opens, of course, shifts both his hands to curl into the long strands of hair against the back of Stein’s head and the edge of his collar to hold the meister steady while his hands are occupied.

Stein twists his hand palm-up against Spirit’s stomach, angles close to improve the awkward direction, and slides his fingers down with the skill of extensive practice. His hands are warmed by Spirit’s own flushed skin but still cold compared to the absolute heat radiating off Spirit’s erection, and the weapon gasps against Stein’s mouth at the contact, part surprise and part pleasure at the contrast. Stein smiles, sharp and bright and pleased against Spirit’s lips, and he’s not even really  _doing_  anything with his hand but Spirit is still trying to arch his hips up against Stein’s fingers, Stein’s jeans, just  _closer_.

When Stein pulls away Spirit leans forward after him, reaching for his coat and his hair and his touch, whatever he can get.

“Spirit.” Stein’s voice is a mockery of his normal calm, flailing for monotone but scratching rough and broken in his throat. “We have to go.”

“Are you  _sure_?” Spirit asks, reaching for the waistband of Stein’s jeans.

“Ah,  _fuck_ ,” Stein chokes into the air, and for a minute there is warm breath against Spirit’s skin and Stein’s hands pressing against his shoulder and his waist, lips on forehead, hair, mouth. “Yes, yes, I’m sure.”

Spirit lets Stein go when he pulls away this time, although his throat makes a whimper that draws a sharp look from his meister.

“If you keep that up I’ll end up fucking you against that wall until you can’t see straight,” he offers nonchalantly, and although his voice is truly level now that only makes Spirit’s resultant flush worse.

“Promise?” He says before he can stop himself.

“ _Spirit_.” Stein looks away from him, turns his shoulders like he needs the physical distance, reaches through his pockets for a cigarette with shaking hands. “We have a  _job_  to do.”

“Yeah, I know.” Spirit levers himself up from the wall, although his knees are still unsteady, tucks his shirt in, straightens his tie, runs a hand through his hair until it is probably mostly straight. “How do I look?”

“ _Delicious_ ,” Stein growls into the night.

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“I shouldn’t,” Stein says, but he glances sideways and his glasses catch the moonlight and the shine off his lopsided grin and Spirit grins back. He raises a lighter to the cigarette between his lips, inhales to catch the fire to the paper.

“Let’s get this over quickly.”

“Yes.”

Stein reaches out sideways to catch Spirit’s fingers as Spirit lets himself collapse and rearrange into scythe-form. When they speak their words overlap into stereo in Spirit’s head. “ _Very_  quickly.”


End file.
